The Metacrisis Pirate
by Anakerie
Summary: Inspired by Doctor Who, Rumple decides Killian's severed hand should be made to grow a new pirate. Mentions of Rumbelle, Captain/Swan, and various other pairings. Author not responsible for brain-cells lost during reading. Complete and utter nonsense.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This fic is just pure and utter nonsense. For those who do not watch Doctor Who, cliff-notes version is that the 10th Doctor loses a hand, and then later in the series the hand is involved in something called a Metacrisis and ends up growing a new human/Time Lord Doctor. The basis of this story is that Rumple is bored, has watched way too much Doctor Who, and decides that Killian's severed hand should be made to grow a new pirate. Something ensues. Not sure if it's hilarity, but something definitely ensues. Speaking of suing, I do not own OUAT. If I did, this would so happen. Well, that and the lions from "The Lion King" showing up. And Mary Poppins as the Big Bad for a season. And Spike from Buffy showing up and moving into town...**

**Chapter 1**

Like any man, Rumplestiltskin was prone to weaknesses. In the old world, they centered mostly around profit, dismemberment, curses, and helping little old ladies across the road…and into the path of speeding carriages. After three hundred years of brooding and drinking, a man did have to have some fun in life, after all.

In this world, his weaknesses tended to center around pralines, writing strongly worded letters to General Mills that they should be ashamed of misleading the public with their so-called "Lucky Charms", and falling asleep while watching BBC programs. He didn't think he was alone in that: he suspected that a good 99% of the U.K. probably fell asleep watching BBC programs. Quite honestly, he was bored with his life. He longed for the good old days of terrifying peasants…or pheasants when he'd had a bit too much whiskey and misread the directions.

Frankly, this town could use a good zombie infestation, and he was working diligently on that, but the dead here were incredibly stubborn and quite rudely refused his requests to go rampaging and devouring. They were content to just lie there, uselessly rotting away, when there was so much important work to be done. He refused to give up the hope that perhaps if he could manage to get the whole zombie thing up and running that perhaps Mr. Daryl Dixon would show up in town to lend his assistance, and might even be willing to go for out for coffee and an autograph. His autograph, not Rumple's. Rumple would have been more than happy to provide Mr. Dixon with such an autograph, but he couldn't imagine why the other man would want one. (Other than the fact that Rumple did have what he felt was quite excellent penmanship.)

It was, however, the BBC programming that put the germ of an idea into Rumple's head, and the more he thought about it, the more fun it seemed. If the idiot in the Chucks could pull it off, surely he could. Rumple flatly and completely refused to listen to anyone who tried to tell him that the characters on the telly were not real, especially if the person telling him such blatant lies happened to be Jiminy Cricket. He also didn't care if the therapy sessions were court-ordered: he found them a complete waste of his time and usually spent his required hour per week eating pralines and glaring at Dr. Hopper and muttering about the Orkin Man.

Rumple's shop was filled with various things he had collected over his long life, and he was pleased with all the various pretties he'd managed to accumulate. He could tell you where he'd obtained any of them, usually whether you wanted to hear it or not. Anyone who came into the pawn-shop was almost guaranteed to be there for hours listening to Rumple wax nostalgic about the diamond brooch he'd stolen from a pregnant leprechaun ("HIS charms were the real thing, I'll have you know!") or the chamber pot he'd taken from a octogenarian tailor. ("How DARE he tell me that it was my ass making my ass look big, and not his shoddy workmanship on my trousers!")

The item he was looking for was packed away at the bottom of a large trunk (wasn't that always the case?) Rumple spent a good hour digging through the assorted contents, reminiscing over where he'd obtained such-and-such (Cora's hot-pink thong! So that's where that ended up!) and thinking of how much he missed just taking what he pleased. Oh, he could still take what he pleased, but he was extremely tired of hearing "Please come with me, Sir" from security guards. Couldn't they come up with anything more original to say? And if they wanted to arrest someone for stealing, why not start with the owner of the Shop N' Save? Charging four dollars for a pound of smoked bacon, that was the real theft!

Eventually Rumple reached the bottom of the trunk, where he kept his severed hand collection. There were large ones and small ones, all assorted sizes and colors. Some were male, some were female, and some he couldn't quite recall, only that he'd obtained them after a little too much whiskey (he did love his whiskey) and that he was quite sore on the mornings afterward.

Here we go, he thought happily. A pirate hand. Over 200 years old and none the worse for wear. Of course it wouldn't be. It wasn't like he'd ever used it for anything. How ridiculous, the idea that cold nights when he'd been all alone in the Dark Castle he'd dug out the hand and…well, that had never happened and there were no witnesses, so there!

Rumple tossed the hand on the floor in front of him and studied it. It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea how to trigger a metacrisis. It involved a bunch of yellow energy and ginger women, that much he did recall.

"You there!" He finally shouted at it. "Grow a new pirate at once."

The hand wiggled on the floor and extended its middle finger at him.

"Oh, I see what this is. You're sulking. You're feeling 'neglected'. Well I happen to be married now! It's not like she would understand about us! She's the traditional sort."

The hand turned away, clearly not mollified.

"Come on now. If you cooperate I'm sure we can work something out." Rumple realized he was almost crooning at the hand. "I'll treat you to a manicure…"

The hand turned back slowly toward him.

"We'll spend a whole day at the spa together, just you and I." Rumple promised. "Just give it a try."

The hand did seem to put a fair amount of effort into it before collapsing back on the floor. Rumple shook his head. "Ginger women and yellow…stuff…in the air. That's what we need. Back in a flash. Don't go anywhere. And that includes the Rabbit Hole, you saucy thing! Don't think I haven't heard about your little late-night exploits!"

The hand made another rude gesture toward him.

There were several ginger women in town to choose from. Rumple considered them all carefully: this was serious business, selecting a genetic donor for his new pirate. The mermaid came to mind, but he quickly dismissed her. While he found the concept of a merman-pirate amusing, it might also be awkward if he had to lug his new friend around in a wheel-barrow. Plus, she really was a bit of an idiot when it came right down to it. It had nothing at all to do, he told himself firmly, with the fact that her husband was extremely tall and could throw a hard punch when provoked. For example, he seemed to find the downright hilarious prank of someone dumping a bucket of tartar sauce on his wife's head sufficient provocation. Clearly one of those types who had no sense of humor and thought violence solved everything.

Perhaps he didn't need a human woman. Really, did he want the pirate to be all…womany? He already had one wife, luckily one that was easy enough to distract once he'd shoved a Kindle at her, handed her a credit card, and pointed her toward Amazon. Perhaps the red hair was the important thing.

That left several interesting options, including orangutan, Irish Setter, and that cute little ginger kitty that lived behind Granny's. Rumple wasn't sure where to get his hands on an orangutan: there were none in Storybrooke. He supposed he could always just turn someone into one but he wanted it to be authentic for his Metacrisis. There were a few Irish Setters but they were owned by small children and he'd been bitten quite badly the last time he'd tried to borrow one. Not by the dogs, of course. They were gentle as lambs. The children were vicious little monsters.

The ginger kitty was quite delighted to return to his shop with him and be plied with sweetened cream, tuna, and ear-rubs from the hand. Well, they were going to be related soon so they might as well get on, he reasoned. He found he quite liked the idea of a pirate with kitty DNA.

Now what to do about the yellow…stuff…in the air. How did one go about managing that? Perhaps he could find the answer online.

Yahoo Answers earned his wrath by voting "Pee in a humidifier" as the top-rated answer. That was utterly disgusting and not something he would even consider. Not ever. Not yet, anyway.

He finally discovered a website that offered next-day shipping on fog-machines, promising they would generate fog in any color he wished. He ordered one and then treated himself and Kittikins (as he was calling her) to banana splits. He and the kitten and the hand all settled down together in the back room of the shop to have a nice snooze together.

The thought occurred to him when the fog machine arrived that if he did succeed in creating a Metacrisis pirate, what exactly was he going to do with him? Well, he supposed there were a great number of things one could do with a Metacrisis hybrid of a ginger kitty and a washed-up pirate. Pirates rampaged the seas and kitties liked fish, so perhaps he'd use his new creation to pillage and plunder the town's fishing boats. But what had really caught his eye was a poster on the wall at Granny's advertising a Cutest Child Contest to be held next week.

He and Belle had no children yet, and weren't likely to ever have any as long as Amazon was in existence. He suspected that the Charmings were planning on selfishly entering Neal themselves instead of loaning him out. And he had been told very sternly by Granny that no, he could not enter his son's dead body into the contest. "Even now he's cuter than the Nolan brat!" Rumple had argued back passionately. Granny hadn't budged. "Living offspring only!"

It didn't say they couldn't be adopted, he thought indignantly. Or that they had to be…childish children. He would be sort of like a dad to the Metacrisis. With a little coaching, they could easily take the tiara. Right then, on with the show.

He placed the hand on top of Kittykins and turned on the yellow fog machine. "Now, Hand. Do your thing."

The hand began moving its fingers in a lively can-can imitation.

"You can't be a damn Rockette without legs! Grow some and we'll talk!"

He could see the hand trying to obey him. Maybe he needed a spell too. Most spell-words were just utter gibberish. Like Dumbo's feather. (Well, the feather it turned out not so much. As soon as he'd removed it the elephant had fallen out of the air and crushed 5 spectators to death. He still had that feather somewhere…)

"Twinkle twinkle little hand. Grow into a kitty-man."

Nothing.

"Killian had a little hand. Its skin was white as snow. But when he stole the Dark One's wife, his hand it had to go."

Catchy, but still not what he was looking for.

"Hey diddle diddle. My kitten just piddled." Rumple reached for some paper towels. "Um…Ruby's a bitch at full moon. The former imp laughed to see such a sight…and I better get a Metacrisis soon!"

That did the trick. There was a kind of haze around the hand and the kitten, and before Rumple's eyes a whole, new, and very naked replica of Killian Jones appeared on the floor of his shop.

"I did it! I did it!" Rumple started jumping up and down. Kittykins began chasing her own tail in excitement. "Well, new pirate! Say something!"

"Mew?" Asked the pirate.

Rumple waved his hand and a large white book entitled "Baby's First Year" appeared in front of him. He turned to "First Word" and carefully wrote down "Mew". The ink was slightly smeared by the single tear that fell upon it.

"Well, I suppose we should get you dressed." He sat down next to his creation, who responded by leaning over and head-butting him in affection. "Yes, yes, you're adorable. Yes, who's an adorable little pirate-kitty hybrid? Yes you are. Yes you are." He scratched the Metacrisis pirate's ears and the man began to purr and kneed his hands against Rumple's leg.

Inside of his jacket, Rumple's mobile phone began to vibrate and he answered reluctantly, still stroking his new friend. "Yes, Belle? What do you mean, declined? There's a $100,000 limit on that card! HOW many E-books? Fine, fine, yes, I'll be home in a minute and give you another card to use. Yes, I'll stop and pick up some milk on the way…yes, I KNOW you want the bloody 2% kind. Goodbye, Belle!" He turned off the phone in a huff.

"Daddy has to leave for a bit." Rumple made a kissy face at his creation. "We'll play dress-up when I get back. I think I'll call you…Kittian! It's perfect! Just like you…" He rubs Kittian's chin. "Now you stay right here and be a good Kittian and I'll be right back. Kittykins, you stay here too. Keep an eye on your new brother, now."

Rumple, in high spirits, left the shop to go home and give Belle a new credit card and pick up her bloody precious 2% milk. In his exuberance, he had forgotten one critical rule about cats.

They seldom, if ever, did as they were told. And certainly never for very long.

Kittykins led Kittian toward a back window of the shop and nudged it open, disappearing through it. She stuck her head back in a moment later and gave him an encouraging meow. Kittian meowed back and climbed on top of a large wardrobe and followed her out into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The hardest part about taking out the trash was that Ruby's natural instinct was to burst open the bags and roll around in it. However, it made a huge mess that Granny unfairly expected _her_ to clean up (not that Granny hadn't rolled in a few trash-piles in her time, the old hypocrite!). So Ruby tried to contain herself as she lugged two bulging bags toward the dumpster that night, muttering about little old ladies and making something look like natural causes.

"Oh, give me a break!" Ruby snapped as she saw that someone or something had torn open the bag she'd throw out earlier and trash was scattered everywhere. "Okay, you stupid raccoons. This has gone far enough. I will find you. I will hunt you down and I will destroy you!" Ruby had a long-standing feud with the raccoons of Storybrooke. Just because they'd been such_ good_ friends with Pocahontas they thought they were above common decency.

There was a rattling noise inside the dumpster. "Oh, is that so?" Ruby raised the lid. "Well, let me tell you, Racoo…Killian?"

Killian Jones was crouched inside of Granny's dumpster, covered in trash and little else. Next to him a ginger kitten (one that Ruby had seen often) was nibbling on a stale pancake. Killian had half of a discarded hamburger sticking out of his mouth. He raised up his shoulders at Ruby and growled around the burger, then made a muffled hissing noise.

Ruby blinked. Emma had mentioned money was a little tight for Killian and that he had been looking for a job, but had he really sunk to this level? Surely Emma could loan her boy-toy enough money for a damn burger and not make him resort to this. Granted, the view was nice… Ruby eyed Killian up and down. He stopped growling and stood up, and then thrust his head against her hand.

"I should probably call Emma…" Ruby fanned herself. Had it always been this warm out here? "You're her responsibility. Where the hell are your clothes? Are you drunk? And when the hell did you grow your hand back? Where's your hook?"

"Purrrrrr." Killian responded, nuzzling her hand again, and Ruby giggled. "Well, who cares? If Emma doesn't care enough to buy you dinner or make sure you have something to wear she kind of deserves what she gets."

"Meow!" Killian agreed, and leaped out of the dumpster to land in front of her. He shoved his head against her stomach and knocked her gently to the ground and into a trash pile.

"Well, okay, but just so you know I don't normally do this sort of thing…often…sometimes…" Ruby was finding it hard to speak as Killian continued to nuzzle her body. "Just don't tell Emma…"

/

Regina had been dreaming some very nice dreams when the yowling from outside her bedroom window woke her up. The Oval Office vanished in a heart-beat, as did Madam President's barely legal, barely dressed advisors. She'd been just about to tell them that yes, she was sure the time had come to push the red button. Hard. And repeatedly. Someone was going to pay with their lives!

Yanking on her bathrobe, Regina stormed through the empty house and out the backdoor and into her backyard. "The hell?"

Killian Jones (oddly with two whole hands) sat naked on her back fence, yowling happily. Next to him a small ginger kitten was wailing as well.

Regina, for one of the few times in her life, was utterly speechless. For once she was glad that Henry was spending the night with Trash Mommy instead of her. Her impressionable baby boy did not need to see this (although judging from the browser history on her computer Henry had been seeing quite a bit lately and seemed to have a strange fixation with appendectomy scars…obviously something untoward he'd inherited from the Imp).

"You stop that right now!" Regina yelled at the naked pirate. "Right this minute! I need to get to sleep! My country needs…I mean, I need my rest!"

Killian did stop yowling, but only so that he could jump off the fence and saunter over to her, and in the moonlight she could see that it was quite a saunter indeed. He smelled like old hamburgers and wet dog, but she brushed that aside when he began to nuzzle her neck. "Hey! Excuse me…what are you…oh my God…"

Her last coherent thought for a while was "Up yours, Emma Swan."

/

"Children, Daddy's back." Rumple called into the shop. "I gave her one with no limit this time so we shouldn't be interrupted for…Kittian? Kittykins? Where are you? I brought presents! Kitty nip! And jingly toys!"

There was no reply. Rumple walked into the back room and noticed the open window. "Oh, that's just what I need. Someone is definitely not getting jingly balls tonight! Or kitty nip!" He stormed out of the shop and back to his car. Storybrooke wasn't that big. They had to be around here somewhere…

/

Killian Jones, the real one, leaned against the back of the Rabbit Hole to have a smoke. Blighters didn't allow him to light up inside any more. Emma had the kid tonight so he wasn't able to sleep at her apartment, leaving him to his own devices. He planned to finish his cigarette, have another, get pissed, and then spend the rest of the night staring out at the ocean and crying pitifully. He wasn't really picky about the order. He'd also have to consider as to whether or not he wanted to accept that job offer as a taster for Goober Baby Foods. Not that they didn't offer an excellent product because they did (he was extremely fond of the strained carrots) but because he wasn't sure their dental plan offered really comprehensive coverage. One of the best pieces of advice he'd ever been given by his late father, besides "Don't be silly. Protect your willy" had been "Never work for anyone who doesn't offer you a good dental plan."

"Meroooooowwww!" He heard from the shadows, and then out stepped…well, now that was just damn peculiar.

"Good evening, Mate." Killian tried to be polite. Always had to think of Good Form, but really, what was proper Good Form for addressing a naked, two-handed clone of one's self? There was nothing in the rule book (and he'd read it very carefully, thank you) about this sort of thing.

"Fancy a smoke?" Killian held the pack out to his double, who made a strange chirping noise and batted it out of his hand.

"Alright then." The pirate nodded. "Been meaning to quit myself, actually. Killian Jones. And you are?"

"Kittian." The double answered promptly.

"Kittian…" Killian took a step backwards and the double took a step forward. This was repeated until Killian was pressed against the wall and he and the double were standing chest to chest. Clothed chest to very naked (and extremely handsome) chest. There was a strange vibrating feeling…was his double purring at him?

"Right…um…Kittian. Where did you come from?"

"Daddy!" Kittian responded, rubbing the top of his head under Killian's chin. "And Mommy!" He pointed a ginger kitten who was carefully observing the entire thing.

"Well, I suppose that would explain the purring…what are you…hey, we just met, Mate!"

Kittian nuzzled his neck again and licked him.

Well, Emma had kicked him out tonight for her kid. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her, and it wasn't really cheating if he was shagging himself, was it? Kittian gave him a little nip, and Good Form went completely out of the window.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Kittykins had not really expected to become a mother so young, and certainly not to a part-human kitten, but she was determined to be as wise and loving to him as her own mother had been to her…right before Mum got knocked up again from a mangy tom and sent her current litter packing. However, until that point she had been a veritable font of useful information and Kittykins was happy to pass that along to her little Kittian.

He was quite gifted, really. Got it from her side of the family, the proper cat side. He was already bilingual (or starting to become such) and was a randy little tom, months ahead of himself. She supervised, making sure no one attempted to take advantage of him, and made sure he stopped at puddles periodically to remain hydrated.

She had to get firm at one point when it seemed a human couple had decided to keep her Kittian for themselves. "We can't do this, David! He's our daughter's boyfriend!" the woman with the ugly hair had protested at first. "We barely knew Emma." The yellow-haired man argued back. "She'd want this for us, if she were still alive."

"She is still alive! We just saw her yesterday!"

"She is? Oh well, she'd still want this for us."

Two hours later, Kittykin marched into the bedroom and sternly ordered Kittian to come with her: the sun was rising and Daddy would probably have breakfast waiting. Kittian looked a little torn, head-butted each of the humans, and then followed Kittykins obediently.

/

Rumple had made another error, but in this one he could be excused for somewhat. While he had been dead, his memories of it were extremely scattered: he had been in a place where everything was made of square blocks and strange people ran around with pickaxes and broke the blocks. He'd been in the process of rebuilding the Dark Castle out of cobblestone when he'd been rather rudely summoned back to life.

So he did not remember that the Afterlife was filled with a lot of bureaucracy and red-tape, and getting anything approved took forever (which fortunately the undead had plenty of). The dead had not been ignoring his demands to come back as rampaging zombies: they were simply waiting for their request to be approved by the head office.

Today they had finally received the green-light and in Storybrooke Cemetery the ground began to shift as the undead worked their way to the surface. Among them was Neal Cassidy, who hadn't been dead for very long and thought he still looked quite presentable. Certainly better than Sheriff Graham, who was missing more flesh than he had left.

"So what's our motivation?" Graham asked. "What are we seeking?"

"Brains." Neal shrugged. "Why mess with a classic?"

"I was a vegetarian!" A blonde zombie sounded offended.

"Then ask for grains!" Neal didn't have time for this crap. "And no, before anyone asks, Daryl Dixon does not live here. He is not going to sign your autograph, show you his cross-bow, or behead you, so don't even ask."

There was a collective moan from among the undead.

"Who put you in charge, anyway?" The blonde zombie wanted to know.

"Because my Dad can beat up your Dad, that's why. And this whole thing was his idea, so that makes me the leader! So there! And I call dibs on the little SOB that stole my name!"

"Well, I call dibs on Emma then." Graham shrugged what was left of his shoulders.

"You got one kiss before you died! We have a kid together!"

"Didn't take her very long to move on with that pirate, did it?" Graham smirked, an accomplishment for a man with no lips.

"Fine. We'll share." Neal had no intentions of sharing but he was anxious to get things started. "Ready? Braaaaainnnnnns."

"Braaaaaainnnnnnns." The other zombies agreed.

"Grainnnnnnnnnnnns." The blonde zombie sounded defiant. "Orgaaaaannnnnic graaaaainnnnnnns."

The undead headed for town.

/

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?" Rumple stood with his hands on his hips. The ginger kitten and Kittian were standing in the back room of the shop, their heads hung as he scolded them. "What do you have to save for yourselves?"

"Mew."

"Sorry, Daddy."

"Well, just…don't let it happen again." Rumple bent down and scratched them both on the head. "We have a very busy day ahead of us. We have to get Kittian something adorable to wear for the contest and then work on our routine. I was thinking maybe a darling little sailor suit, and perhaps you could tap-dance to 'Good Ship Lollipop'?"

Kittian made a hacking noise.

"Well, what do you want to do, then?"

"Swan Lick." Was the prompt reply.

"For starters, that's Swan Lake, and now I have to go erase my memories of the horrid image that brought to mind. But ballet is fine: we can have you do ballet. Oh, you are going to be brilliant, Kittian. You're going to make Daddy so proud!"

Kittian and Kittykins beamed.

/

For the fifth time, Emma Swan checked to make sure she didn't have toilet paper hanging out of the back of her pants, that she was in fact wearing pants, and that she hadn't split a hole in them. She seemed to be okay in all of those regards, but something was definitely wrong because no one she saw that morning was willing to look her in the eye. She got some sideways glances, some giggles, and Regina was positively smirking as she walked by Emma.

Even Granny was blushing as she pushed a plate of eggs toward Emma, and Dr. Hopper kept coughing into his hand. Even her own parents kept sneaking looks at each other and snickering, and it was really getting old fast. Unlike her eggs, which tasted like they had been old for a very long time now. You would think someone who had such a crappy childhood would at least get fresh eggs to make up for it.

The morning had started off alright. She had dropped Henry off at school (making a note to herself to change her WiFi password when she got home: boobs she would have understood but appendectomy scars? What the hell was wrong with this kid?) She had stared out the car window for a few minutes brooding about her crappy childhood, arrested Mary Poppins (who it turned out was a bogel and had come to town to lure children into another dimension to use as slave-labor), and put gas in her car. Typical day. Nothing out of the ordinary. But even Mary Poppins couldn't stop giggling all the way to the police station.

Finishing her breakfast, she left the diner and then stopped dead in her tracks. There was Mr. Gold walking down the street, accompanied by Killian (who was wearing pink tights and a bright pink tutu) and followed by a kitten. Killian had also managed to regrow his hand somehow. She watched as he began to run and jump down the street in clumsy yet enthusiastic ballet moves.

"What the hell, Killian?" Emma marched up and demanded. "What is all of this?"

"WRONG!" Killian yelled. "You're wrong, yellow-headed woman Swan. Wrong, wrong, wrong! Mreow!"

"Okay, Gold, what the hell did you do to him and what's your price for undoing it? Because I cannot show off…this…in public. People respect me for dating a pirate! It shows that I'm tough even though I had a crappy childhood. Have I told you about my crappy childhood?"

"Multiple times." Rumple sighed. "It gets crappier every time you tell it. And I'll have you know that whole 'more' incident happened to Oliver Twist, not you, so I'm not buying any of it!"

"It did so happen to me!" Emma muttered. "Killian, what are you…" he had dropped to all fours and was winding himself around her legs.

"WRONG! STILL WRONG!"

"His name is Kittian, Ms. Swan. He's my Metacrisis. Isn't he just adorable? I'm entering him in the cute child contest."

"Your what?"

"My Metacrisis. Instead of growing Hook a new hand, I made the hand grow a new pirate!" Rumple giggled. "And this one is all mine so don't you touch him!"

"You cloned him?"

"No, no, not a clone! A Metacrisis! You're as stupid as your father!"

"Yellow-haired man." Kittian offered. "He pets nice."

"And he's behaving like that because…"

"I needed the DNA of a red-headed woman." Rumple pointed at Kittykins, who looked very proud.

"Wait…when did you meet my father?" Emma asked suspiciously. Kittian giggled. "Last night. Your mother has ugly hair. But she screams really loud when she's happy-purry."

"Oh my God…" Emma gasped. "Is that why everyone…they thought you were…and they still…I'll kill them all! THIS IS NO WAY TO TREAT SOMEONE WHO HAD A CRAPPY CHILDHOOD!"

"Killian licks nice." Kittian looked a little smug.

"You didn't…"

"Did so!"

"Mew!" Kittykins backed him up.

Rumple giggled again. "Oh my. Someone seems very popular. But we're wasting time here. Come Kittykins, Kittian. We have to rehearse."

"Okay, Daddy!" Kittian stood up and waved at Emma. "Bye! You smell like tuna!"

Emma blushed furiously and almost ran back to her car.

Around the corner, Undead Neal was scowling. How do you like that? Barely dead and buried and here was good old Papa already with another son. And planning on entering him in the Cute Child contest. Well, we'd just see about this!

But first…brains. Undead Neal pointed to the library and the zombie hoard began lumbering in that direction.


End file.
